Crimson Arc
by Lucinda
Summary: A series of stories covering what could have happened with the Crimson Dawn.
1. Crimson Tears

author: Lucinda  
first story in 'Crimson' Arc.  
rating: pg 13  
pairing: Betsy/Warren  
disclaimer: I do not own anyone from the pages of Marvel Comics. I'm just playing with them.  
Distribution: Psyknife may have this if she wants. Anyone else, ask first.  
  
  
Sabertooth had escaped from his keepers. Someone had come up with the   
brilliant idea that if they used a specially made device to keep his   
violent impulses in check, it would be more useful to utilize him for risky   
missions that to simply imprison him, or even to kill him. This decision   
had not been particularly confidence inspiring in anyone from the X-Men.   
What 'situations' would a blood-thirsty mutant who delighted in killing   
people painfully and brutally be useful in?  
  
For a while, the device, shaped like a collar, seemed to have worked.   
There had even been some people that found the idea amusing, that   
Sabertooth, much like a giant self centered cat, had been collared,   
literally. But either it's circuits had been faulty, loosing effectiveness   
over time, or something vital had been damaged during one of the missions   
that he had been on, because the collar had been found in the room he'd been   
using, slashed off of his neck, with a noticeable amount of blood in the   
room, and no other sign of Sabertooth.  
  
He had escaped.  
  
Considering what the X-Men had learned about how Sabertooth thought,   
it was most likely that he would be headed this way. He would come here,   
where there was a large gathering of challenging people that he already   
wanted to kill. If he was in one of his more coherent phases, he would   
stalk them slowly, ambushing them one at a time, killing them before help   
could arrive. She really hoped that he was in a more animalistic phase.  
  
As it turned out, fortune did not smile upon Betsy Braddock today.   
She had been correct in her assessment: Sabertooth had headed to the base of   
the X-Mansion, intending to kill them, the group that had been a thorn in   
his side the longest, and also to try yet again to kill Wolverine. He found   
Betsy while she was out walking, leaping from a tree, and her telepathic   
abilities had barely given her any warning.  
  
He had dropped from the trees, his claws extended to rake down her   
body, and if she hadn't felt the faint flicker of almost hidden   
anticipation, she wouldn't have known he was there until the lines of pain   
seared down her back. She sent a panicked thought towards the others,   
wanting the team to know that he was here, preferably in time to save her.  
  
Once more, she found herself fighting against Sabertooth, alone and   
desperately outmatched. This time, she had more skill at fighting to use,   
and a more effective mental attack, but.. that was accomplishing little more   
than to draw out the battle. She was gradually loosing. His claws kept   
scoring on her, leaving wounds that individually were not to terrible, but   
each one bled. They were adding up, and the exertion was also taking a toll on her.  
  
He was going to kill her. There was only one thing that gave her any   
degree of satisfaction at all: she could sense that in his mind, she had   
crossed from the category of 'frail female, easy prey' to 'opponent and   
challenge'. It was a bitter and empty satisfaction. They both knew that   
even though she was better, it wouldn't be enough. Eventually, she would   
fall, bleeding and dying to the ground.  
  
Maybe she could try to drag him down with her? She had been mind linked   
to someone that had died once, the experience had nearly killed her, and had   
left her powers dormant for months. She had only survived due to the help   
and caring of friends, and advantage that Sabertooth would not have.  
  
She had decided that it was better to do that than just let herself   
go without trying. Wouldn't anything that she could do to slow him down be   
a benefit to the rest of the team? She reached out, attempting to link her   
mind to his, a tricky situation at best. Harder if the person was   
unwilling, harder if she was injured or distracted.  
  
She managed to link her mind to his, but the distraction gave him an   
opening in her defenses. She linked herself to his mind just as his claws   
raked into and through her abdomen, parting shirt and skin, tearing through   
muscle and organs, blood spraying forth. She screamed from the pain, and at   
the same moment, he screamed as well, a more feral voicing of the pain,   
feeling it as if it were his own insides slashed, his own blood gushing out,   
his body falling to the ground.  
  
Darkness swirled in, obscuring her vision, and she felt sudden harsh   
blows connect to Sabertooth's body, felt him howl in outrage as his not so   
easy kill was interrupted... everything faded, she could feel herself   
slipping away... and then, she was floating, in a warm, comfortable dark.  
  
She recognized this, this floating darkness. It should have alarmed   
her. She had been here after she had been blinded and nearly killed by   
SlayMaster. She had been here again when Tom had died, her lover with whom   
she'd established a permanent mental link. The fact that she was here meant   
that once again, she was hovering on the edge of death. She should have   
worried, should have felt something... something other than tired. But there   
was no pain here, no suffering. She let herself rest in the darkness,   
wondering if she would ever wake up.  
  
She found herself awake, in a bed in the medical section, hidden   
below the mansion. There was the curious detached feeling that mean she   
was on heavy pain killers, and as if from a great distance and happening to   
someone else, there was a dim feeling of pain from her stomach and arms..   
she couldn't feel her legs. Warren was there, holding something in his hand,   
a vial filled with something.. some sort of fluid, like liquid shadow laced   
with fire. He looked exhausted.  
  
"Betsy.. can you drink this? It will heal you." His voice was   
shaking with concern, with worry... and exhaustion.  
  
She managed a very small nod, and he put the vial to her lips, tipping   
it slightly, allowing her to drink. The substance flowed down her throat,   
burning hot and terribly cold at the same time, and she could feel it   
passing through her body, faster than any medicine could do.  
  
Having drank the substance that Warren had brought her, she felt   
herself growing very tired, as if that brief time of consciousness had   
exhausted her. She surrendered herself to sleep, hoping that when she woke,   
the pain would be lessened.  
  
She didn't see the effects of the fluid. Didn't see how threads of   
shadow, flecked with burning crimson seemed to thread themselves through her   
cuts, as if stitching her back together, inside and out. Didn't see the red   
mark shape itself over her eye, marking her as belonging to the Crimson   
Dawn. She didn't notice as the essence of the Crimson Dawn worked through   
her, rebuilding her body so that she would survive.. so that she would be of   
use to it.  
  
Warren, seeing only that his lover was healing, didn't worry about the   
consequences of his action. Betsy would live, what more could he ask? Her   
body was knitting itself at a rate that he had only seen from Logan... her   
wounds were closing. A red mark over her eyes was an insignificant price to   
pay in return for her life.  
  
If only the price were really so small.....  
  
end Crimson Tears. 


	2. Crimson Awakening

Author: Lucinda  
story #2 in Crimson Arc Crimson Awakening  
rating: pg 13  
main Character: Psylocke, contains Betsy/Warren pairing.  
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone from the pages of  
Marvel comics. No money is being made from this story.  
Distribution: please ask first. Psyknife & Luba may have it.  
note :words in colons: represent telepathic contact.  
  
  
  
Betsy opened her eyes, feeling remarkably well rested. She could   
remember fighting Sabertooth, remember the feeling of his claws slashing   
into her... Warren had given her something to drink, something he said would   
heal her. Nothing hurt now, there was no pain anywhere in her body.   
Nothing more than the slightly stiff feeling from sleeping late. Whatever   
Warren had brought her had been very effective.  
  
Her stomach growled. How long had it been since she'd eaten? How long   
since.. well, how long had she been in the infirmary? She slipped out of   
the bed, and made her way across the shadowy room, pressing the button that   
would open the door.  
  
Harsh light flooded in, stinging her eyes, making them water in   
protest even as her arm came up, flying in front of her eyes as a feeble   
shield. She felt a few tears slip from here eyes as a result of the harsh   
lights in the hallway. Surely they hadn't been that bright before? It had   
to simply mean that she had been in the dark, or asleep too long.  
  
:Warren?: She reached out, finding her lover's mind. There was a   
feeling of numbers dancing across his awareness, and the smell/taste of his   
aftershave, and this light musky scent that was uniquely Warren.  
  
:How long have I been asleep? I feel stiff, and hungry.: She let a   
hint of the hunger she was feeling creep through the link.  
  
He sent a feeling of relief at her recovery, and the knowledge that   
he'd given her the fluid, something called the Essence of the Crimson Dawn,   
almost twenty four hours ago. He would go to the kitchen and begin some   
food for her, and that way she could go to her room and put on some clean   
clothing.  
  
She felt much better after going to her room and changing into some   
new clothing. She had also taken a quick shower, rinsing the memory of   
Sabertooth's claws and of her own spilled blood away from her skin. The   
lights still seemed oddly bright. Maybe it was just a side effect of her   
injury? Had the forced mind-link taken that much of a toll on her? Was this   
simply from mental strain?  
  
Deciding that the concern was not really necessary, Betsy went to   
the kitchen for something to eat. She was hungry. She also thought that   
Warren was planning to try to make her the strawberry pancakes that she   
enjoyed so much. Strawberry pancakes... with whipped cream... Warren with   
whipped cream....  
  
Shaking her head slightly, Betsy entered the kitchen. Warren had   
indeed made her a large stack of those delicious pancakes, and she dug into   
them eagerly. Hmm.. perhaps it was a good thing that Warren was rich, the   
pancakes flavor seemed a bit.. the closest word that she could find was   
faded. As if the flavor of them had been muted somehow. She couldn't quite   
manage to finish the stack, and found herself pushing them away.  
  
Nobody had said anything about the mark over her eye. It was a red   
shape, slightly stylized, and swept over her eye in a dramatic, sweeping   
mark. It looked exotic, and almost primitive, yet at the same time, there   
was something about it.. a hint of mystery and power. The kitchen felt to   
bright as well.  
  
It was odd, because while her stomach felt full to the point that she   
was certain she would burst if she took one more bite, there was still this   
odd feeling, like she was hungry. Why could she be feeling like that?   
Could it be some sort of side effect of her injuries from Sabertooth? But,   
everything felt healed. Maybe she could contact Hank and see if he had any   
ideas on the matter.  
  
She reached out, finding Hank's mind, like soft fur and musk and a   
slightly sweet taste, like twinkies over the taste of man... she imagined   
that this touch carried much the same 'flavor' that kissing him would give.   
:Hank? Did Sabertooth.. was my stomach damaged? I can't seem to eat as   
much as I think I should.:  
  
She could read in his mind the extend of her injuries, and it was a   
horrifying picture. Her entire middle had been slashed, opening her   
stomach, her intestines, slashing through her live and one of her kidneys,   
and there had been trauma and swelling along the spinal cord, as well as the   
'simpler' damage to all the muscles and her skin. The images of her   
bleeding body were terrible.  
  
:Ohhh... no wonder everything hurt when I fell. I guess that explains   
it. My stomach just doesn't want to eat very much. Thanks.: She let the   
mental contact drop, not even thinking about the fact that she no longer   
felt hungry. Or the faintest hint, like tasting a memory, of twinkie on her lips.  
  
Downstairs, Jean was checking in on Hank. He'd been down there,   
apparently reviewing the medical information on Betsy after her latest   
encounter with Sabertooth. He probably had forgotten to eat again, so she   
was taking him some food, the tray floating behind her as she walked. There   
were advantages to being telekinetic, after all. She opened the door to the   
lab, seeing him dropping in front of his computer, head resting on one furry arm.  
  
"Hank? Are you awake? I have some food for you..." Jean's voice was   
worried. He looked as if he was falling asleep at the monitor.  
  
"wha.. huh.. empirical data would indicate.. um, Jean. Pardon... it   
seems that I was more tired than I had thought. Ahh.. food. Truly, you   
are a kind wonder among women, and we are blessed to have you with us." He   
took the tray, giving the food his determined attention.  
  
"You look exhausted, Hank. What could you have possibly... actually,   
never mind. I'm sure you can find all sorts of things to keep yourself busy   
in here. I'd say that you should probably go get some rest." Jean's voice   
was balanced between concern and humor. "And don't forget to throw away   
your twinkie wrappers. Honestly, as a scientist, you should know what goes   
in those. How you can continue to eat them.." With a small shudder of   
exaggerated horror, Jean smiled and left, floating the empty tray behind her   
and back up to the kitchen.  
  
At least Betsy had recovered. Warren would have been devastated if she   
had died. Not to say that everyone else wouldn't have been upset, wouldn't   
have missed her. She was their friend, their teammate. Warren was her   
lover though, and that was a connection that went beyond friend or team   
mate. He would have been willing to do just about anything to save Betsy.  
  
A vague feeling, not quite strong or defined enough to be a   
premonition flowed through Jean. It was a feeling that there would be   
trouble, that something bad would happen/had happened, that there would be   
terrible consequences of this trouble. Something that centered on Warren and   
Betsy. Maybe it was simply concern, triggered or intensified by the recent   
near disaster?  
  
Jean shivered slightly, feeling as if a cold breeze had suddenly found   
it's way up her spine. There would be trouble. Hopefully, they would be   
able to stop it before it was to late. Hopefully, they would spot it,   
whatever it was, be able to follow it, nip it in the bud.  
  
end Crimson Awakening. 


	3. Crimson Fear

author: Lucinda  
  
Crimson Fear is story #3 in Crimson arc.  
  
main character is Psylocke, contains Betsy/Warren  
  
disclaimer: I do not own anyone from Marvel comics.  
  
distribution: please ask first. Psyknife and Luba may have this series if they want it.  
  
note again that :words in colons: indicate telepathy  
  
also note that I am taking this in a direction different from the one Marvel took, so this series is to be considered Alternate Universe.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Logan was worried. Betsy had been attacked by Sabertooth, savagely carved open and left to bleed, and if her telepathic cry had not reached them, she would have died. He had helped Warren acquire something to heal her, something called the Essence of the Crimson Dawn. It had been a difficult and exhausting journey, one that had tested their bodies and their determination before they had been permitted to take the essence with them. It had made Betsy's wounds heal, as if they had never been. She was no longer wounded, and none of them had left even a faint scar.  
  
  
  
Not a scar of the flesh at least.  
  
She had awoken with a mark over her eye, a pair of crimson lines in a shape, something that whispered to him of knives, swords... and the oldest style of markings to represent blades. It wasn't exactly a tattoo, not did it have the look of a scar, but.. something about it was unnatural. It stayed the exact color of fresh blood, no matter what lighting she was in, he could always see the bloody mark over her eye.  
  
Unnatural, and unnatural again that her eyes seemed to look almost red in the darkness, as if they had embers burning behind them.  
  
She wasn't acting the same, not exactly. She seemed quieter, less willing to join in the chatter and conversations that would goon through the mansion. Maybe she was just feeling serious from being gutted. She was doing her ninja walking again, moving with almost no noise, quiet as a mouse, a moving shadow undetectable to most. Jean and the Professor could feel her presence, Remy knew where she was.  
  
  
  
Remy was avoiding her now, no longer playing the same teasing flirting games that he played with every other female in the area, including a few that were still underage. Not that the Cajun normally meant anything other than that the girls looked pretty, but... it said something that he was avoiding Betsy. Logan wasn't certain what it meant, but... Remy normally had a damn good instinct for trouble. If he had the feeling that something was off about Betsy now, then something wasn't the same as it was supposed to be. He was acting skittish, as if Betsy made his skin crawl, but he hadn't said anything. Not a single word.  
  
  
  
Betsy wasn't being as conversational. She wasn't chatting here or there with the other team women. She wasn't going on the sweet little walks and stolen moments with Warren, although Logan could tell that they were still together during the nights. They carried each other's scents on their bodies, and to be blunt, Logan could hear them at night.  
  
  
  
His enhanced hearing could be a real problem sometimes.  
  
  
  
Betsy seemed edgier. She seemed to be almost distant, and moody. As if her mind wasn't here with the rest of her. As if her mind were dwelling elsewhere, on something else, some other moment beyond now. It was almost as if she resented having her attention pulled back to the present, and she would snap at people, getting angry over things that she would have ignored or dismissed two weeks ago.  
  
  
  
It wasn't right. She wasn't acting quite like herself. She smelled like Betsy, like herself, only tinged with anger, with hunger. But her behavior wasn't right, like an actor that had the part slightly wrong, slightly out of focus.  
  
  
  
He would have dismissed the behavior as just a reaction to being gutted except for the other little things. None of them were anything large, nothing that would have amounted to much alone, but they were there, and they added up to something being off from how it should be.  
  
  
  
Remy was avoiding Betsy, as if he was afraid of her now. Warren... Warren seemed tired all the time, far more than the sexual athletics taking place at night should have been leaving him. Betsy wasn't eating as much as she had before, and had complained several times of things tasting funny, blander than they should be. She seemed distant emotionally, and when she wasn't distant, she was snapping, more temperamental than normal. She was also doing the telepath thing more, thinking to someone to check this or that rather than asking.  
  
  
  
Warren wasn't the only person being tired more than normal. Everyone that Betsy was thinking to often seemed a bit more tired, a bit less energetic. Warren was the most affected, but he could see it in Jean, in Scott, and Beast. Rogue had always been difficult for telepath's to reach, so Betsy had never thought much to her. Logan also knew that most telepaths found it difficult to contact him telepathically; apparently his shadowed memories and enhanced perceptions of his surroundings were disorienting at best, painful at worst for telepaths.  
  
  
  
Betsy had been thinking to him over the past week. She would send her thoughts out to him, ask him about things, had she remembered to get this, was there enough of that, what time was the danger room open? Every time her mind touched his, he could feel in her this darkness, as if her mind was a room with the lights turned very low, and there was a feeling of hunger, a dark, secret hunger, and the hovering weight of anger, like a dark cloud over her.  
  
  
  
Something was very wrong. He didn't know what it was, how it had happened, although Logan suspected that since it had happened after Betsy had drank the Essence of the Crimson Dawn that that fluid, that essence had caused or contributed to this change. That would make it some sort of mystical change, something arcane and magical and unpredictable.  
  
  
  
Warren was getting more drawn out, and was starting to look as if he was loosing weight, not that bird-boy had any to spare. Logan had the feeing that something bad was going to show itself, and probably through Warren. He was looking like the weak link right now. Something bad was developing, and Logan wasn't certain what was behind it, or how to stop it. He just knew that whatever was happening was happening through Betsy, and because of that elixir. And that it was bad, and only going to get worse.  
  
  
  
A sudden scream filled the air, piercing and filled with shock and fear. It was coming from outside, near the pond, and if he was correct, it sounded like Rogue was the one screaming. Logan was already moving, his senses attempting to find some cause, to learn the cause of Rogue's fear/shock/startlement, preferably before it bit him...  
  
  
  
Warren was collapsed in a small group of shrubs, his clothing in disarray. The scent of sex hung in the air, almost as thick as Rogue's fear. Warren wasn't moving, despite the screams.  
  
He looked pale, almost grey under the blue, and too thin, much too thin. There was only the faintest movement of his chest to indicate that he was still alive.  
  
  
  
The only scents in the area were Warren, Betsy, Rogue and nature, and now Logan's scent. Either Something purely psychic or mystical had stuck Warren down, or his interlude with Betsy had done this to him. Logan had heard of someone wearing their partner out, but this just wasn't natural.  
  
  
  
:Logan!?! What is going on?: The Professor's voice rang in Logan's mind, carrying no traces of hunger, only concern/confusion. There was also the feeling that he hadn't been able to get through to Rogue, which would explain why he had contacted Logan.  
  
  
  
After perhaps a heartbeat's hesitation, Logan sent the situation to the Professor, feeling that it was important that the Professor know as much as possible about what had happened. He was a smart man, he would be able to follow the scent patterns, understand that the only sign of something happening was Betsy and Warren's interlude, and Warren's collapse. Betsy had vanished, with no scent of fear, and Warren had fallen, but was still alive. Rogue was having hysterics, and Warren looked completely drained.  
  
  
  
During Rogue's screaming, Betsy slid out of a shadow in the med lab, her eyes glittering red for a moment, startling Hank with her sudden appearance. :Something's happened to Warren. He collapsed by the lake.:  
  
  
  
Hank shook off his startlement and fatigue to try to get everything ready to deal with Warren. He turned to ask Betsy what had caused the collapse just in time to see her quite literally vanish into the shadow, exiting the room.  
  
  
  
When had she learned how to do that? How had she done that? Hmm, question Betsy's new abilities later, prepare to treat Warren now.  
  
  
  
end Crimson Fear. 


	4. Crimson Consultation

author: Lucinda  
  
story #4 in Crimson Arc.  
  
rating: pg, pg 13?  
  
contains Betsy/Warren pairing.  
  
disclaimer: not mine. Nobody from Marvel is mine.  
  
distribution: please ask first.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Warren opened his eyes, and the first thing that he saw was Logan. He closed them again, hoping that the image would change when he re-opened his eyes. No such luck. He still saw Logan's face, and the fact that Logan was scowling did not help matters any.  
  
  
  
"Ugggh... What did I do to merit waking up to see you?" Warren's words were half croaked, and anything but pleasant.  
  
  
  
"Well, lover-boy, it seems your girlfriend sucked you dry and left the mansion for the day. I think we have a bit of a problem." Logan's voice sounded almost amused. That was not an encouraging sign.  
  
  
  
"Betsy? Betsy did this? But... how? and for the love of anything, don't call me lover-boy. It's all kinds of wrong." Warren was speaking a bit more clearly. His mind was turning over the memory of earlier - had that been today? He had met Betsy in a clearing, and she had given him this look, the one that said she wanted to ter his clothes off and devour him. Not being one to object to his beautiful girlfriend wanting him, he had gleefully managed the energy to turn the chance meeting into a passionate interlude...  
  
  
  
"I'm not sure how. But the only scents there before Rogue found you were the scents that should be in the clearing, you, Betsy, and sex. Which tells me that whatever happened was either a psionic attack, or Betsy. Considering the way she just popped in, told Hank you'd collapsed and went off to go shopping, I'm guessing it wasn't an outside attack." Logan's words were a bit gravelly, and his logic was sound.  
  
  
  
Warren winced, not in the least comfortable with the idea of Logan knowing about his sex life. Ever. He'd never thought about the question of how Logan's enhanced senses would open up the secrets of his personal life, or the personal life of anyone else. It made sense, if Logan could tell which villain had been in a place by sniffing the air... uggh, he did not want to finish that thought. "You think this had to do with the Crimson Dawn?"  
  
  
  
Logan gave a short, harsh chuckle. "What else could it be? She's not acting the same. It's a lot of little things, and they aren't the right things for it to be just the after effects of Sabertooth trying to gut her. The only other thing that's changed is you giving her that stuff from the Crimson Dawn."  
  
  
  
"What things? What have you noticed about Betsy? Should I be jealous that you're watching my girlfriend?" Warren was starting to worry. He had only wanted Betsy to live, he hadn't even considered the idea that there could be side effects.  
  
  
  
"She's not eating as much. She says things taste bland, which when Remy's the one cooking is a sure sign that something's not right. She's avoiding bright light, wearing sunglasses almost as much as Scott. She's walking different, using that ninja walk of hers all the time. Lot more telepathic contact for the little things, is the danger room open, did I get any mail, have you seen my keys? Funny thing is, the people she's been thinking to alot have been more tired, like they got no energy." Logan was studying his thumb intently, as if it held all the secrets of the universe.  
  
  
  
Looking up at Warren, he continued. "She's thinking her little messages to me now. Telepaths don't like to think into my head on account of it being a confusing mess, but she's been there, Logan, can I borrow some oil to clean my swords? Is the danger room free at seven? Remy's avoiding her too. Like he's scared, and that's new. Kid may be hiding most of his past, but he's dead on for spotting trouble. If his instincts are saying something's not right, and mine are giving the same message, I think we need to look into things a bit."  
  
Warren considered that list. It did sound odd, and if so many things had changed... granted, most of them were little things, the sort that by themselves would be nothing. All together though, they seemed to paint a picture that he wasn't liking. "You and Gambit agree on this?"  
  
  
  
Logan gave a small shrug. "We didn't sit down and chat. But he's been avoiding Betsy. Not flirting with her. Leaving the room when she shows up. Swapping practice sessions so he's not working with her. When he does bump in to her, he smells nervous. Not guilty, not lustful, he's nervous, sometimes bordering on fear."  
  
  
  
Warren frowned, and tried to sit up, feeling his muscles protest and quiver with the terrible strain of sitting up in the bed. That was enough itself to convince him that something wasn't right. "Alright, I concede to your arguments. Something isn't normal with Betsy. What can we do about it?"  
  
  
  
Logan gave a small, wintery smile. "We go talk to Gomurr again. That old mage was the one who pointed us towards the Crimson Dawn as a way to keep her from dying before, he should be able to tell us what it's doing to her now. Then, we have him tell us how to make her the Betsy we know again, and we fix her. Short and simple plan. Let's go. I got a feeling that we only have so much time before it's too late."  
  
  
  
"So, we talk to the old sorcerer that remembers back when Rome was a tribe of barbarians, have him tell us what's wrong with Betsy and how to fix it, and then just get it done? That's your plan?" Warren was standing now, swaying slightly on his feet.  
  
  
  
"Yep." Logan had this crazy grin on his face, one that told Warren that the shorter man was expecting some sort of danger, or violence.  
  
  
  
Walking out the door of the med lab, Warren sighed. "We're all going to die."  
  
  
  
In the end, it hadn't taken them very long to find the old mage. Warren suspected that he was waiting for them, although that would normally have sounded almost too paranoid, even for an X-Man.  
  
  
  
"Can you tell us what's happening to Betsy? That stuff... it's done something to her, more than just healing her wounds." Warren was worried, and he spoke first, hoping to prevent Logan from alienating the wizened old mage that might be their only hope of returning Betsy to normal.  
  
  
  
The old mage, his wrinkled dark face peering at them, his body hidden by flowing worn robes turned towards Warren. "Tell me what you have seen. Only then can I determine it's meaning."  
  
  
  
So they explained everything that they had noticed, with several probing questions from the old mage to gain further details in certain areas. Including the rather embarrassing question of 'had her sexual habits changed since the elixir. More embarrassing to Warren was the fact that while he was to embarrassed to answer, Logan filled in for him.  
  
  
  
He was going to try to repress the idea that Logan knew that much about his sex life as far into his subconscious as possible, and made a mental vow to never ever underestimate Logan's senses again. As if he didn't have enough things in his life that would send a normal guy screaming for mental therapy.  
  
Finally, the old mage considered all the information. After a few moments, he looked up, his dark eyes intense. "She has been marked for something by the Crimson Dawn. I had not expected anything so... noteworthy. The only way to change this... well there are two things that could be done. The first would be to kill her, which I doubt you would want to do. The other is that the two of you and the woman, Betsy, must journey into the land of the Crimson Dawn, and seek to bargain with it's guardians. They should hold the power to undo what has been done to her, if they choose."  
  
  
  
Then, he gave Warren a small talisman, shaped like an oval made of twisted wire and shadow, a single red stone gleaming in the center of it. "When you are ready to go to their land, place this on a door, and it will open a portal to the land of the Crimson Dawn. Be careful, for it is not a safe land, and the dangers will be many."  
  
  
  
Having spoken to the mage, there was no more to be done now except to return home and try to rest and wait for Betsy.  
  
  
  
end Crimson Consultation. 


	5. Crimson Hunger

author: Lucinda  
  
story 5 in Crimson Arc  
  
rating: pg 13.  
  
main character: Betsy  
  
disclaimer: Nobody from Marvel is mine.  
  
distribution: please ask first.  
  
Having informed Hank that Warren would need some medical attention, Betsy left the medlab. It was so sterile and lifeless in there, not to mention uncomfortably bright. She really wasn't certain why Warren had collapsed, but his pulse and breathing had been steady, so he should be just fine, especially since they had such high quality medical facilities here.   
  
Yes, Warren would be just fine. She ignored the little voice inside of her that tried to worry over her lover. He had to recover; there was no other possibility acceptable. She also ignored the little voice that was trying to determine how things had gone from an intense and passionate interlude to Warren shuddering, and collapsing into unconsciousness. Had she actually broke him? A decidedly wicked smile curved over her lips, and she contemplated how to greet his return to health, again ignoring the small part that was concerned for his safety, that was afraid that she had somehow caused Warrens collapse.  
  
She looked at her closet, considering the various things inside. Darker colors, silks and linens, light weight fabrics in elegant and sometimes daring cuts. But none of it seemed quite what she was looking for.   
  
There was only one solution to that. She would have to go shopping. That same little corner was trying to catch her notice, whispering in a scream that after your lover collapses, you don't just go off shopping. That corner, so concerned with the feelings and health of others felt as if it were far away...  
  
Betsy headed towards her door, stepping into the shadow and out into the garage, full of dark shadows and sleek cars, as well as a couple motorcycles. Remy's was missing, telling her that the Cajun had gone away somewhere. Pity, he seemed to be such an interesting morsel... err it would be interesting to have his opinions on what would look good on her. But he'd been avoiding her lately, as if he didn't want to talk to her for some reason.  
  
Shrugging away the concern, she sat down in her car, a sleek jaguar in dark blue. The motor purred to life, and she left he mansion, intending to have a day away from people looking at her funny, a day around people that had no idea that she had ever met Sabertooth, let alone been nearly killed by him on several occasions. She was better now, why were they all still acting so worried? Her wounds were healed, not even a scar remained, and she felt powerful, strong.  
  
Parking her car in the shopping center's parking tower, she slowly stalked her way into the buildings, unaware that her movements were almost predatory, only noticing the confidence that she was feeling. She had arrived, and she would shop. Victoria's Secret, that interesting perfume place, and then, she would look for the right clothing. She would know it when she saw it, of that she was certain. It would be something sleek, something that would appeal, and something that would look dangerous. Maybe leather...  
  
She found the store, devoted to all sorts of leather apparel, and wandered inside. Leather, some turned into soft suede, as supple and pleasant to touch as velvet. There was also leather, some that gleamed as if coated with water, others softer, a more dull finish, but more supple. Leather pants, leather skirts, leather jackets and coats and belts and vests and halters and oh, the list went on and on. Leather in all sorts of colors, from natural browns and tans to greys and blacks, blues, green, reds... She had found what she was looking for.  
  
Bags of purchases later, she deposited them neatly into the trunk of her car, and went back to look for a few shoes and boots that would go with her new outfits. After all, sometimes the proper accessories could make or break an outfit. So, back for shoes, and possibly a few things for her hair. She wasn't certain why she hadn't treated herself to this sort of trip before. It felt satisfying to spend her money on herself, and she wondered when she'd gotten out of the habit. Hadn't she indulged in shopping trips quite often back in Britain?  
  
And there were so many people, all going about their days, the feeling of their minds this warm buzzing feeling, like inhaling the scents of a candy factory. She could hear the mental buzz and murmur of thoughts, concerns about how people looked, worries about debts and boyfriends/husbands/lovers. Petty worries about school work or peers or jobs and office rivals filled their minds. It was like sliding through candy, all the petty and amusing thoughts. She was feeling almost giddy from it all, smiling as she meandered through shops.  
  
"What's a lovely lady like yourself doing here all alone?"  
  
She glanced over, trying to determine what sort of man had spoken, beyond a confident tenor voice. He was fairly attractive, a bout six foot, dark blond hair and hazel eyes. He had this air of confidence about him, and was dressed quite well. She had never met him before in her life.  
  
"Well, I was shopping. That is the traditional thing to do in a mall." She was trying to figure out what his plan was. Why was he talking to her, what did he want? Had he been sent by one of the X-Men's many enemies? Perhaps she'd better learn a bit more...  
  
Smiling at her, his next words were almost no surprise. "Maybe you shouldn't be out alone. If you'd like, there's this great little Italian place I know..."  
  
She almost laughed. His efforts were so obvious, so predictable. First the compliment, then the offer of company and dinner somewhere... If this was a set up by one of their enemies, she almost felt like telling this man's manipulator to pick someone more discrete. But she was feeling hungry, and she might as well try to learn who would be trying to get a link into the X-Men this time.  
  
"Italian? I think I can manage an Italian dinner. Did you drive here? I can follow you in my car." She forced her expression into a smile, hoping that it looked as if she found the man interesting, or at least not as hopelessly predictable as he truly seemed to be.  
  
So, she found herself having dinner with Kevin. He kept flirting with her, almost reminding her of Remy in some ways. Very aware of his good looks, certain of his charm, and flirting shamelessly. But unlike Remy, there was something behind Kevin's flirting, some sort of purpose that she could feel. She didn't know what it was, that would require probing his mind, and he would probably notice if she did that. Pity, it was about the only thing interesting about him.  
  
Finally, the dinner concluded, and Kevin insisted on paying the bill. As they were walking out to the parking lot, he suddenly grabbed her arms, and pushed her up against a car, his lips demandingly crushing hers. His mind was full of violent, lustful thoughts. Betsy saw the truth. That he intended to have her tonight, to spend himself into her body, regardless of her will.   
  
This realization angered her, a dark rage burning inside of her. Her eyes glowed red, and the rest of her body momentarily flickered dark as shadow, and she licked at his lips, tasting not his flesh, but the essence of his mind, his inner being. She touched that essence, and she drank it down, pulling until he collapsed onto the ground, weak gasping noises coming from him, almost reminiscent of a fish flopping on the shore.  
  
"Let that be a lesson to you. You can't always have things your way."  
  
She walked away from him, attempting to remember where she had left her car. She felt all warm inside, almost tingly and giddy. She wasn't hungry anymore, and she felt good. She had far to much energy now to simply go home, there had to be something that she could do. Where was that club that Remy had mentioned last month? The one with great music and dancing?  
  
There was nothing keeping her here anymore. Why not go have a bit of fun?  
  
End Crimson Hunger. 


	6. Crimson Darkness

author: Lucinda  
number 6 in Crimson series.  
rating: pg 13  
disclaimer: not mine. Nobody from Marvel is mine.  
distribution: please ask first. You may have it if you have the rest of the Crimson series.  
  
  
Betsy didn't get back to the mansion until very late. Warren was   
drowsing in a chair, his wings twitching on occasion as he dreamed. Logan   
was watching the door as Betsy approached, his sense of smell alerting him to   
her approach... and that she smelled of close but not sexual contact with a   
strange man. This might be very bad.  
  
"Evening Betsy. What happened with the guy?" Logan's voice rolled   
through the darkness, a rough sound calling up memories of the big bad wolf   
that would get you if you strayed from the path.  
  
She simply looked at him, smiling through the darkness, the red mark   
over her eye almost glowing in the darkness. Her words were accompanied by   
a casual shrug. "He got overly pushy. I left him at the club parking lot."  
  
"Was he alive? Did his mind still work?"  
  
Betsy froze, her whole body tensing and quivering slightly. There was   
an undertone to her voice, as if something inside were frantically trying to   
scream, like a butterfly beating it's wings against a glass window. "Still   
alive... what do you mean by that, Logan? Are you implying that I killed   
someone? I'm one of the good guys, remember?"  
  
"You do remember dropping Warren to the ground earlier, passed out   
after one too many rounds with you? You aren't getting energy from food   
anymore, Bets. You've changed, and I think you're drawing energy from   
people now." Logan's voice wasn't loud, but it was rough, and showed very   
little emotion, mostly just traces of impatience.  
  
"Warren... but I didn't... he should have... This doesn't make sense.   
I... what if you're right? What can be done about it anyhow?" Her voice   
started hesitant, a bit nervous, filled with concern, and then shifted,   
gaining something like a cool polish, as if the emotions were being tucked   
away into the darkness.  
  
"Warren isn't dead, just damn tired. As for sense, when have our lives   
made sense? Why would they start now? My best guess, confirmed by talking   
to a shriveled up old mage is that this is some sort of side effect to the   
Crimson Dawn. It didn't just heal you, you were marked, those red lines on   
your face. It wants something from you, and these changes must be   
connected to that somehow."  
  
"What does it want?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her   
eyes looked almost red in the darkness.  
  
"Honestly? I have no idea. Gomurr said we could go drop in and ask,   
maybe get them or it or whatever the hell this Crimson Dawn actually is to   
release you from this binding it's given you. Find out what it wants, at   
the very least."  
  
"Would I be expected to go alone?" She sounded a bit concerned.  
  
"No, Warren wants to go, and I'm going too. We found that old geezer,   
and on his advice got you that damn stuff to begin with, we got a   
responsibility to see this through. So, we just wake up lover-boy over   
there, and go through the magic portal into the gates of hell, or the home   
of the Crimson Dawn."  
  
In a very small voice, the next words from Betsy's lips left Logan   
feeling surprised. "But what if it's dangerous?"  
  
Logan moved towards her, his movements slow, and laid a hand on her   
shoulder. "Life is dangerous, bets. A meteor could fall from the sky and   
kill Scott... or 'Ro could throw a lightning bolt at that annoying reporter   
of Hank's... The Blackbird could crash... we don't live safe lives here on   
earth. But, yeah, this trip will be dangerous. We're still going to go."  
  
"So... we're all going into the land of darkness to keep me from   
becoming... what am I becoming?" Betsy's voice carried a faint hint of hope.  
  
"Yup. Not the most complex plan, but it'll do." Logan had that same   
feral grin on his face, one occasionally seen before big, bloody, horrible   
fights. "I'll just go wake up Wings over there."  
  
Sauntering over, Logan tapped Warren on the arm, causing him to flail   
a bit, startled into wakefulness. Warren looked around the room, trying to   
orient himself. His first words contained dismay and a hint of frustration.   
"You again... why do I keep waking up to the sight of your face?"  
  
Logan chuckled, finding amusement in Warren's complaint. "Time to go.   
Betsy's here. You still got the little whats-it?"  
  
Warren sighed, looking at Logan with exasperation. "Magical talisman,   
not a little whats-it. Yes, I still have it... it's time?"  
  
"If we're going to do this, we need to do it now. Things are changing   
for me... I don't know where they are going to end." Betsy's voice was low,   
hinting at worry and frustration and a hint of fear.  
  
Warren shivered a bit at her words, and stood up, stretching a bit as   
he did. He reached under his jacket, producing the talisman from the inside   
pocket. In the darkness, all that was visible was the golden frame, and the   
red gem in the center, which almost glowed, like an ember. He walked over,   
and placed it on the door to the lower front bathroom, currently unusable   
because of some student prank involving feathers, super glue and some   
balloons... he didn't know the details or want to know. It was enough that   
the bathroom behind the door was currently not functional.  
  
As he secured the talisman, a ripple of darkness, almost like a shadow   
spread behind it, spreading out until it met the door frame, deepening into   
total darkness, and radiating a chill. There was an almost twisting   
feeling, and the darkness swirled, and instead of a door blocking the view   
of an unusable bathroom, they were looking into a rock strewn valley, the sky   
a sooty dark color, the ground harsh stones, the only light and color the   
slender looking stream of lava flowing through the valley below.  
  
Warren looked through the portal, and shivered a bit. "It doesn't seem any more comforting this time."  
  
Slowly, Betsy moved to stand beside Warren, staring through the portal   
with wide eyes. "You went there to save me? It looks like some sort of hell..."  
  
Logan gave a small grunt before speaking. "It doesn't smell very good   
either. Fact is that you're important to the team, and to Warren for   
reasons that are a lot more personal. It was worth it to us then, and it's   
still worth it to make sure everything is alright for you. Now, we might as   
well go in, waiting here won't help anything."  
  
Their journey felt horribly long, and the feelings that they had ended   
up in some sort of evil underworld was only intensified by the darkness, the   
harsh molten glow of the lava throughout the area, and the lack of any   
vegetation. Occassionally, there would be a hint of distant movement from the corner of their eyes, as if there were things  
moving in the distance, but what those things might be, or what they would eat  
was a mystery. Perhaps one best left unsolved. They followed a narrow  
path, the air thin and harsh on their lungs.  
  
Eventually, they came to a level plain, and they could see something   
rising in the distance, something much to regular to be another boulder, or   
even a hill. It reminded them of ancient temples, and there was in fact a   
small building on the top, and they could see tiny dots where red fires   
blazed in front of the building.  
  
"That would be the temple, the home of the Crimson Dawn. Time to go   
ask a few questions." Logan seemed undaunted by the air, although the dark   
dust of the land had covered him, making him resemble some sort of menacing   
creature, almost inhuman.  
  
The ziggurat rose above the plains, looming large and imposing before   
them. It also had proven to be farther away and also larger than they had   
first assumed, and they were all very relieved to finally climb the many   
stairs that moved slowly up the sides of the massive structure. Eventually,   
they came to the top, passing between car sized bowls of red fire, fires   
that stung the eyes to look at, and produced a sullen smoke with an bitter   
after scent. Carefully, they moved towards the building, seeking the door   
between the row of massive columns, each as wide as Logan was tall.   
Eventually, they found the door on the opposite side of the building from   
the stairs, and with trepidation, swung open the door, carved from the same   
dark, almost black stone that made the ziggurat and the mountains. Twisting   
lines over the door made shapes that almost seemed to writhe and change, and   
left a vague feeling of uneasiness.  
  
Slowly, they made their way into the temple, which was lit inside with   
rows of torches, all burning with more of the sullen red fires, and a pair   
of carved stone bowls of the red fire, positioned beside an alter. Behind   
the alter, where there should have been a wall was something that at first   
looked like some sort of crazy black on black artwork, set in a large,   
almost circular frame of raised stone, regular lines hatched across the   
surface. But the darkness wasn't still, it moved, swirling and rippling,   
twisting and moving in insane, impossible patterns, with little flecks of   
red in it momentarily, much like the vial of fluid that Warren had   
retrieved. Standing between the alter and the wall was a figure, a tall,   
dark skinned woman dressed in some sort of short white garment, not quite a   
toga, not quite like anything they could identify. The red mark went over   
her eye, and her eyes were solid red, like the molten lava they had passed.   
She only had a small topknot of hair, the length reaching halfway down her   
back, the rest of her head smooth, perhaps shaved.  
  
"Why have you entered the Hall of the Crimson Dawn?" Her voice was   
inhuman, ringing almost like a gong, but with a slight rippling undertone,   
like listening to the lava slowly flow over stone.  
  
"Something is happening to me. I need to know what it is... to know   
why these things are occurring." Betsy's voice rang out, so clearly a human   
voice in this alien place.  
  
"You have been chosen." This was a new voice, one deeper than Logan's,   
and almost reminiscent of a rock slide. The speaker was a giant of a... not   
quite man, with dark bronze skin, and four arms. He had to be nearly twelve   
feet tall, and he also had the mark over his eye. He was in a remarkably   
similar white garment, and also had just a small topknot of hair, although   
his would only have reached the level of his ears, which looked small and   
almost shriveled.  
  
Warren's muttered comment echoed in the room, proving that it had   
unusual and effective accoustics. "Chosen for what?"  
  
"She has been Chosen to be the Bride of the Crimson Dawn. Their union   
will permit the Crimson Dawn to return to the Earthly plane." The two   
white-garbed figures spoke simultaneously, their eyes glowing like coals as   
the words emerged.  
  
end Crimson Darkness. 


	7. Crimson Release

author: Lucinda  
story #7 in Crimson series.  
rating: pg 13  
disclaimer: not mine. Nobody from Marvel is mine.  
distribution: please ask first. unless I said you could have earlier parts of Crimson.  
  
  
  
For a moment, they had simply stared at them, unwilling to accept the   
words. This moment was shattered by Betsy's outraged voice.  
  
"BRIDE?!? I haven't been planning to marry anyone, and if I were, it   
would be Warren. What exactly makes you think I should have some union with   
the Crimson Dawn anyhow? Why is it not allowed on earth now?" Her   
questions seemed to hang in the air, echoing among the interior in a way   
that Warren's words had not.  
  
The giant figure spoke, his expression showing anger. "How dare you   
attempt to reject this honor that the Crimson Dawn offers you? You accepted   
the aid of the Crimson Dawn, there is a price for that aid. You WILL enable   
the return of the Crimson Dawn!!"  
  
"Look, I want to know where you get the idea that I should be this Bride..."  
  
Betsy's angry voice was interrupted by a third figure, this one with a   
decidedly reptilian appearance, also bearing the mark over the left eye.   
"Shouting will change nothing."  
  
"What will change things?" Warren's voice was quiet, the desperation   
clearly evident.  
  
"We have been working to long, for far longer than you can imagine to   
secure the return of the Crimson Dawn. It is not something that we will   
give up on easily. But, perhaps we can reach a compromise. Come, Chosen,   
talk with me."  
  
Warren found himself in a small room off to the side with the woman,   
uncertain of how he had gotten here, or where Betsy and Logan were located.   
He couldn't see the others, or hear them. He had only hope that they were   
alright.  
  
She looked at him, her eyes lingering over the planes of his muscles   
appreciatively. "So, she has chosen you to be her mortal consort. How much   
does she mean to you?"  
  
He looked at her, a bit uncomfortable with the way she was eyeing him.   
"Betsy is the most important person in my life. She's all I could want in   
a woman, and I came here to keep her from dying. What can I offer to buy   
back her freedom?"  
  
The woman's lips curved into something that could only be called a smile   
by default. "Are you willing to die for her? To offer up your life, or a   
portion of it to save her? If I said that you could have her back, but only   
if you gave.... say, thirty years of your life, would you do it?"  
  
"Thirty years? I... what do you mean? Like thirty years of... polishing floors?"  
  
"No. A part of your life's essence and strength, offered to buy back   
her life. You will live your life as you would, but your death will be   
thirty years sooner than it would have been otherwise."  
  
"For Betsy, yes. I would." Warren's voice was firm, without hesitation or doubt.  
  
"Then we shall seal your bargain. Thirty years of your life, in   
exchange for her return to the mortal world." The woman stood, one hand   
outstretched towards him, the other holding a slightly curving bronze knife.  
  
She passed the knife over the back of his hand, drawing a thin line of   
blood that welled up, and fell to the floor, creating a thin plume of smoke.  
  
Betsy found herself in a small room with the reptilian servant of the   
Crimson Dawn. She couldn't feel the others, not could she feel the woman or   
the giant that served the Crimson Dawn. It seemed that her bargaining would   
be done in private.  
  
"Why does the Crimson Dawn need a Bride to return to earth?" There was   
no sense in not learning a bit more about her situation.  
  
"The Crimson Dawn was banished by powerful sorcery. The taking of a   
Bride is not the same as a wedding between mortals, this is a mystical   
bonding. It is neccesary to bridge the worlds."  
  
"It is changing me, in strange and alarming ways. I do not want to   
become something that isn't Betsy Braddock, someone that isn't myself. That   
seems to be what these changes are doing. I will not become someone else   
simply to ease the return of a mystical force." Betsy was frowning.  
  
"You can be returned to who you once were, but the mark of the Crimson   
Dawn will not go away. It can be... made dormant, for a while. But there   
would be a price for that."  
  
"What price?" Betsy was feeling cautious. This sounded too easy, too simple.  
  
"The price would be the return of much of your original injury. The   
mark would not be removed, only slumbering within you. Can you accept this bargain?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The shriveled figure moved to his feet, taking one of her hands in   
his, passing a curving blade over her palm, letting the blood drip onto the   
floor. He bowed over her hand, kissing the wound, and whispered a short   
phrase in a strange, guttural language. Bitter smoke rose from the place on   
the floor where her blood had fallen. "The bargain has been offered and   
accepted, my Lady."  
  
Logan was in a small room, his teammates gone. The only other living,   
or at least moving, creature was the four armed giant. Grinning with   
anticipation, the giant lunged towards Logan.  
  
They fought for a while, exchanging blows, the force of which left   
Logan's ears ringing, and occasional spots before his eyes. He could feel   
his blood pulsing, the troubles of the situation blurring away with the   
simplicity of the fight. He had no idea how long it lasted, neither gaining   
a clear advantage.  
  
Finally, the giant stopped, his hands outstretched in what had to be a   
ceremonial gesture. "You are a brave warrior, and skilled. You have proven   
yourself. Are you willing to bargain for the woman?"  
  
Logan sheathed his claws, sensing that the fight was over. "I'll   
bargain. What does the Crimson Dawn need a Bride for, and why Betsy?"  
  
The giant shrugged, settling on a bench. "The barriers between worlds   
cannot be breached without a ceremonial bonding. I do not know why this woman."  
  
Something seemed a bit off to Logan. "Have there been Brides before?"  
  
"Yes. Each time, the Crimson Dawn has been banished back to this   
place. A Bride is required to return, someone given a touch of the Crimson   
Dawn to make a link."  
  
"Who was the last Bride? What happened to her?"  
  
"I do not know her fate, but the last Bride was a woman named Selene,   
from a city called Rome."  
  
Logan growled slightly, not willing to let Betsy become like Selene.   
"What can I offer to the Crimson Dawn? I haven't taken the Essence."  
  
"The Crimson Dawn has tasted you, through the drinking of the Bride.   
Each person that she tastes is tasted by the Crimson Dawn as well. You seem   
to have appointed yourself as a Guardian to her." There was a calculating   
gleam in the giant's eyes.  
  
"So I've been snacked on. Huh... a Guardian? I suppose so." Logan's   
voice was thoughtful. Leaning back, he produced a cigar from his jacket,   
lighting it from one of the torches on the wall. Almost as an afterthought,   
he offered one to the giant, an offer that was accepted.  
  
"Will you offer yourself as a surety? Will you have your life stand in for her?"  
  
"Where would that go? What would happen if I agreed?"  
  
"Your death would permit the crossing, just as a bonding with the Bride   
would create. It would remove the urgency of the Mark's demands and   
pressures on the woman."  
  
"My death... I assume you mean as in a complete, final death, instead   
of just a bit much water, but brought back to health?" Logan wanted to know   
the particulars before agreeing, although this didn't sound too bad.  
  
"Yes, your death, where the spirit has left your flesh, the heart has   
stilled, and your corpse has been consigned to the fate of whatever   
abandonment or funeral rites offered. Then, the barrier preventing the   
Crimson Dawn will be broken."  
  
Logan pondered this for a few moments. Standing, he held one fisted   
hand towards the giant. "Fair enough. You want that sealed in blood?"  
  
"Of course. How else will the bargain seal itself with the power of   
the Crimson Dawn?" With those words, one of the lower hands reached out, a   
curved knife held ready. The blade flashed, cutting deep into Logan's hand,   
spilling a spray of blood to the floor, where it sizzled and smoked.  
  
They found themselves standing in the living room of the mansion once   
more, their bodies still darkened by the gritty air and smoke from the   
temple of the Crimson Dawn. Logan glanced at the others, catching the scent   
of blood from Betsy. She collapsed on the floor, her stomach oozing blood,   
the injuries on her stomach partially reopened. Warren caught her, the back   
of his hand marred by a half dried line of blood.  
  
"So they got their pound of flesh... Best get her to the med lab as   
quick as possible."  
  
They were so busy making certain that Betsy was taken care of that   
nobody asked Warren what had happened to his hand. Nobody but Logan noticed   
the scratch at all.  
  
end Crimson Release. 


End file.
